An honest look into our military family and how we get from one day to the next.

Friday, June 20, 2008

What goes through the mind of a 5 month old?

I've spent the evening puzzling over what goes through my 5 month old child's mind. I can't complain, he's happy as a clam, but some of the things he does makes me wonder what the joke is and why I don't get it. Here's a list:

What is so fascinating about your own toes?

Why is it necessary to scoot all the way across the room to chew on a kitchen chair?

Why is it so funny to kick and throw your arms around when it is time to change a diaper?

Why are daddy's shoe laces so fascinating?

Why are electrical cords so fascinating?

Why is it so amusing to knock on the closet door for 15 minutes?

Why is it far more interesting to watch the ceiling fan than to drink your bottle?

These are just a few observations from the past couple of days. I think we can also officially say that Josiah is mobile, the comment about scooting across the room wasn't just hyperbole, he really did it! He also took his first shower with mommy last night which makes the lack of photos of that particular event understandable. He loved it, he kept lurching into the shower stream and trying to drink the water! That's about it for now, since I have nothing substantial to share at this particular time, I'm going to post a story written by my cousin from our college days in Rice Lake, Wisconsin. Enjoy.

This story took place in Rice Lake, Wisconsin. Ben and I shared an apartment with three other guys while we went to school at the University of Wisconsin Center Barron County. While there our apartment became well known and was eventually dubbed 4BH which stood for four Bergers and a Ham. The line of reasoning went that there were two Bergers, Two Isenbergers (from whose last names the Isen was dropped for the purpose of the title) and a Monette whose shape and personality both fit the moniker Ham. The rest is history.

It was a mild and calm winters night. Though the darkness of night had fallen over the city, so had a blanket of snow. The snow had measured nay on eight inches and still showed no sign of letting up. Five members of a sacred club known as 4BH were gazing through the window at the magical winter wonderland outside. Like children on the night before Christmas, they were restless and fit to be tied. Like young lions with anxious energy, they poked and prodded each other looking for a scrap. One of the four Bergers (which one is not important)had taken down the Ham and was playing with the frightened porker like a cat plays with a half dead mouse. All the Bergers took their turn teasing and mocking the weaker Ham. The Ham had grown used to it by now. The energy level was at an all time high, like boilers about to blow, they needed to open the valves fully and release some steam. The Fab Five decided to get outdoors and be loud and abrasive. Like ex-convicts just let out on parole, they ran, leaped and frolicked the night away.

With so much energy needing to be expelled from their young vibrant bodies, they decided to clear the walk. Each one had equipped himself with a shovel, and like a chain gang they went to work. Backs bent and heads down, they looked like steam powered locomotives chugging down the tracks. The shovels were like the steel rod that connects the wheels and the white snow that was being flung into the air was like the billowing puffer bellies rising out of the smoke stack. Quickly the job was completed. “Let’s go up town and shovel some other walks” cried the Berger named after the lead singer of G’n’R. “Let’s not” said his younger less energetic brother as he headed for the door.

With shovels held high, like warriors brandishing their swords, the others charged on. Much of Main Street was cleared that night, only to be covered again by morning.

After much work had been done it was now time to play. Like a tremor before the actual earthquake, the first snowball was thrown. The author does not recall who the instigator was. One snowball was followed by many. Next shovel fulls of snow were being launched like scud missiles. “AAAAAHHHHH, that went right down my back!!! “ screamed the portly one. The shortest Berger had just dropped a snowball the size of the iceberg that sank the Titanic right on the Ham’s head, sending snow cascading down the loosely worn Super America jacket. All who witnessed, laughed whole heartedly. Once again the weakest of the bunch was becoming the brunt of the jokes. Knowing that the Ham was quick tempered, the three remaining Bergers laughed, but did not turn their backs to the beast. Like a raging bull, or should I say, the fatted calf, the one known as “Slob” charged after the one who had provided the closest thing to a bath that the Ham had in well over a month. The chase was on as both bolted down the sidewalk. Like an overweight and over the hill guard dog chasing a crafty burglar, they dodged street signs and parked cars. Just to taunt the Ham some more, the pursued loosened the draw string on his sweats baring his handsome white gluts. As if this scene in itself wasn’t enough to behold, the following folly was truly a sight worthy of $10,000. If only Bob Saget could have seen this. The Ham, in his haste, lost his footing and in a moment his feet were parallel with his head and he was looking up into the night sky. For a moment frozen in time, he looked like a bush hog bound by it’s hands and feet, and hanging upside down, tied to a pole being carried by pygmies. Laughter roared from the Bergers like thunder. They moved in for a closer look, being cautious, like jackals moving in to dine on a not quite dead water buffalo. The Ham had lost his wind, but not his fight. With his prey at close range now, Hammy quickly grabbed himself a handful of snow and packed and molded it into a cannon ball. He then summoned up all his strength and delivered a blow of snow to the regions down below. Quivering and twitching, Shorty Berger lay on the ground breathing shallow breaths. Like a sumo wrestler who had just won the title “Fattest Ass in China” Ham raised his stubby arms over his head and shouted insults over the fallen Berger. Rising to his knees, Shorty, always the fan of the underdog, managed a half smile and said “yeah, you got me.” With his chest stuck out like a rooster, portly waddled back to the house to prepare for the late shift at “poop or I’ll scare ya.” Little did he know that the Bergers as always, would have the last laugh.

The Bergers continued on in their quest for clear sidewalks for nearly a half hour before they too headed to the pad for some hot fluids. Saying goodbye to the Slug as he walked out the door in clothes that had not yet seen the inside of a washing machine, the Bergers warmed themselves with the bodies of several sultry women. Nearly twenty minutes later, who should appear at the door but old Skin and bones himself. With glasses as dark as the inside of a coffin at midnight, and a lock of hair jutting straight up in the air he stood there in the doorway. As snot dripped and froze at the end of his nose, the Bergers stood in astonishment. The Berger known as Bull spoke up and as was the custom, delivered an insult in the direction of the heavyweight. “I can’t decide if he looks more like one of those bare cheeked trolls with the hair standing up, or a wild eyed, sweaty, buck toothed mad man stumbling through the door of his mountain side hunting shack.” Once again laughter came at Bushel Britches expense. “Guys, grab a shovel and follow me!!!” The ogre cried”I drove my car up on a snow pile and I can’t get it off!” With the laughter just trailing off from the Bull’s comments, it quickly re-ignited. Holding their sides and wiping tears from their eyes the Bergers three put the women aside and grabbed their muk-luks and moved toward the door. In a whirling Dervish, the other white meat flew down the stairs and led the stud brothers three to his “car.” I put car in quotes because it was only a car in theory. It was still under debate as to whether the car was in fact a car. As the four of them came upon the pile of scrap metal, the never ending laughter rose up again. Like a piece of Andy Worhalls abstract art, the automotive balanced atop the sizeable snow pile. Like coal miners digging out a companion buried by a blast of TNT, the men struggled to free the mobile tin can. At long last it was freed and the pudgy one was on his way to a night of stealing beef sticks and string cheese. With a job well done the gangsters of love were about to head home to a plethora of women. All of a sudden Skinny Berger spoke up, “Hey, someone else is stuck!” Turning around the other two saw that some other fool had made the same folly as Wilbur. (Get it, Wilbur, like in Charlottes web?) Seeing the putz had hung himself up right in front of the office of Johnny law, the Bergers hesitated at first, due to the fact that they were also known as the thief of hearts. Feeling daring, the three proceeded on. They worked to free the frantic stooge. Just as they had gotten him loose, he quickly drove himself right back on top of the pile. City employee #9 was moving in with his grader and heave hoed the intoxicated fool from his snowy trap. It was at that moment that Johnny Lawman himself stepped away from his jelly filled dinner and came to the scene. He then told the snow soldiers to move on and informed them that the stooge in the car would be getting home by alternate means. It had been a long day for all, and they heeded the Sheriffs advice and went home. By now it was nearing the twelfth hour of the day, and the men were ready to unwind. They each grabbed the drink of their choice, Short had a scotch ale, an old peculiar for Bull, and Skinny took up a belt of mixed berry mad dog. They sat down with their liquor and watched Braveheart for the 75th time that month.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this trip down memory lane. You may remember a little bit differently than me. Heck, I admit that some of it is spiced up a bit, but anyone who was there knows that most of it is true and with a couple more hours I could add more details, each one making you laugh more and more.